


Helping hand

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Kink Meme, M/M, Oviposition, sex in the middle of egg laying happens, this is kinky as heeeck and I will no apologize for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Very well, I’ll… I’ll just go ahead and say it,” he murmured, voice itching. Took another deep breath. And another. And when Crowley was just about to try encourage him, he blurted, “Ihavetolayeggssometimes!”Crowley blinked. Repeatedly.“What?”“I have. To. Lay eggs. Sometimes,” Aziraphale repeated, forcefully slower, eyes still closed and sounding like each and every word was being dragged out of his mouth with a dentist claw.“…Oh. Yes, that’s what I thought I heard,” Crowley said, very very faintly.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 363
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	Helping hand

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this [prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=1792089#cmt1792089) on the kinkmeme! That was fun to write, can tell you that much~

Crowley looked up from his phone, and squinted.

It was a perfect spring day outside, the sky blue and sunny, the garden of their shared cottage in the South Downs blooming with life, bees buzzing about the colourful flowers. It was the exact kind of day in which Aziraphale would surely glance out the window, promptly prepare a basket with too many snacks, and drag Crowley outside for a nice picnic, while Crowley pretended he didn’t love it all as much as just put up with it for Aziraphale’s sake.

(He had an image to uphold, one can’t just go around spending endless picnics dopily gazing at the love of their life and maintain said image. Although the dopily gazing still happened.)

But that didn’t seem to be the case, that day. Aziraphale was cagey, as he had been for the past three days, and Crowley was rapidly growing annoyed.

He thought they had reached a certain point. They spent millennia sharing fleeting looks and stealing brief touches. They spent so much time talking around what they couldn’t say directly. They risked their existence for one another, and came out the other side finally free.

Crowley really thought they had stepped into a new phase of their relationship, with open affection and direct communication and all they hadn’t been able to have for six thousand years. And yet, there Aziraphale went, not even a year in since they started to live together, keeping secrets once more and being utterly unable to not show it.

With a sigh, Crowley put his phone down, approaching his partner. Aziraphale was looking outside the kitchen window with a distant look, a neglected cup of tea he had let cool in his hands.

When Crowley put a soft touch on his hip, he jumped backwards, turning to him with wide eyes, tea splashing on his fingers.

“Oh,” he exhaled, relaxing. Or attempting to. There was still something tense, in the way he held his shoulders. “Sorry, dear, I’m afraid I got quite lost in my head—“

Crowley watched quietly as Aziraphale put the cup on the counter, dabbing his fingers clean with a napkin. He was avoiding Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley hated when he did that.

“Angel.”

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale blurted, still not properly turning to face him. “Maybe— Maybe I’ll go spend a few days back in London. There are some shops I’d like to check, but I know you won’t want to spend hours upon hours putting up with me losing myself between books, so you won’t need to come with me, really.”

Crowley gaped at him as Aziraphale picked up the mug again, realized the tea had gone cold with a grimace and then stepped away to put it in the sink. His back was ramrod straight, and he promptly crossed his hands in front of his chest, nervously torturing his fingers. Pretty much everything in Aziraphale’s stance was yelling “I’M LYING”, and everything inside Crowley’s stomach was yelling “I DON’T LIKE THIS.”

“Angel,” Crowley repeated, trying to muster whatever ounce of patience was left in him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would something be wrong?” Aziraphale rushed to say, eyes widening just slightly. “Everything is just fine and dandy! Absolutely peachy!”

Crowley stared in disbelief as Aziraphale stepped away from the sink, still contorting his fingers nervously. Crowley followed.

“So we are doing this again?” he asked, voice darkening. Aziraphale stubbornly kept his back to him, aimlessly walking in the living room.

“Doing what?”

“ _This_!” Crowley blurted, exasperated, throwing both arms out. “I thought we were done with the secret-keeping, Angel—“

“Secret? What secret? I don’t know what you are talking about—“ Aziraphale replied, voice tinny, or tried to. Crowley grabbed his shoulders, turning him around.

“You don’t, huh?” he sarcastically asked, feeling the irritation mount as Aziraphale openly avoided his eyes. “That’s why you are so eager to go back to London without me?”

“It’s not— I’m not—“ Aziraphale hesitated, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes. He looked haunted. “It’s not that, Crowley, I promise— It would be just a few days—“

“If you want to spend some time alone, why don’t you just say so?” Crowley replied, frowning. He was still keeping his hands tightly on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and relaxed the hold a bit. “…That’s not it, is it?” he then added, when Aziraphale’s silence stretched. He let go. “Well… If you are tired of being here with me, I won’t hold you back.”

“Wha— No!” Aziraphale cried, eyes widening. He finally stopped wringing his fingers, palms sliding under his chest, arms circling his stomach almost protectively. He looked desperately uncomfortable, and Crowley wanted nothing more but to envelop him in a hug, hadn’t he been feeling as if his heart was attempting to split into two. “Crowley, no— I’m happy being here with you, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life, but— There are certain… Things you don’t know, about me,” Aziraphale added, voice lowering as he went.

Crowley tightened his hands into fists and then relaxed three times in a row, taking a deep breath. _Keep calm. Keep cool._

“So tell me, then.”

“I— Don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Aziraphale whispered.

_Nope. Can’t keep calm._

“ ‘lright, then,” Crowley muttered, because it was better than yelling, and turned on his heels.

Had he turned at least once as he angrily strode toward their bedroom, he would’ve noticed the look of desperate plea Aziraphale launched him.

**

The day went, as the night did, while Crowley pouted on their bed. He was used to Aziraphale not sleeping much at all, but the angel had still taken the habit of coming to bed to read by Crowley’s side while Crowley fell asleep, a hand stroking his hair softly. It had become a habit so ingrained Crowley simply could not fall asleep, mind going in circles about their altercation. He had no idea what it could possibly be, what he supposedly did not know about Aziraphale.

The only things he could imagine were in the realm of ‘I want to break up with you’, mostly because, after six thousand years, one tends to know a whole lot about the angel they loved. He knew all of Aziraphale’s silly little habits and idiosyncrasies, about how fussy and difficult he was. About what a downright bastard he could sometimes be. Crowley knew Aziraphale occasionally ate chunks of butter just because he liked the feeling, and that he secretly enjoyed the sort of romance novels you could find in a two pounds bin at the train station. He knew Aziraphale was surprisingly good at carrying out temptations and at how honed his ability to engage in denial was.

What did Crowley _not_ know about him?

When mid-morning the door opened with a soft little creak, and Aziraphale poked his head in, Crowley kept pointedly staring at the ceiling with a scowl. And still not turned when the bed dipped under Aziraphale’s weight, as the angel sat by his side.

“Thought you’d be halfway to London, by now,” Crowley said grumpily when the silence grew to be impossible to bear. Aziraphale let out a small, huffy mirthless laugh.

“Changed my mind,” he then said, sounding slightly hoarse. Crowley blinked, genuinely surprised, and finally turned. Despite his attempt to appear relaxed, Aziraphale looked desperately tense, mouth a thin line. Slowly Crowley dragged himself in a sitting position, tilting an eyebrow.

“I— Um,” Aziraphale muttered, bouncing a knee over the duvet. “I was wondering if… Do… Do demons— Procreate?”

Crowley blinked, feeling slightly like what he imagined a computer crashing would feel.

“What?”

“Was wondering if… You know, considering what you told me, what with all those demons who get destroyed on a whim— They must have a way to keep their numbers up, so… Do you— have the ability to breed?”

“No! They usually just grab whichever poor human soul thinks becoming an expendable demon is an _upgrade_ ,” Crowley exclaimed, and blinked in front of the small ‘oh…’ that Aziraphale released, shoulders sagging. “What… Do you want to have a baby?” Crowley added, faint.

“No!” Aziraphale cried back, cheeks pinking. “Goodness, that’s not what I— I was just wondering if— Oh, this is a disaster.”

Aziraphale rose from the bed, pacing the room like a caged hamster. Crowley followed his movements with a slightly open mouth, completely lost.

“I don’t understand,” he said, honest.

“This is a ridiculous situation, I just—“ Aziraphale sighed, stopping his pacing. “I was hoping you might have encountered a similar situation, but I think this might be a thing that happens only to me, for some reason.”

He sounded frustrated, eyebrows scrunching in the middle. Crowley closed his mouth with a soft snap, and blinked again.

“Aziraphale?”

“I don’t like keeping things from you!” Aziraphale cried, sitting back down with so much force he made Crowley bounce slightly on the mattress. “But I— I’m—“

“ _What_?”

“I’m embarrassed!”

True to the declaration, the pink on Aziraphale’s cheeks had intensified, eyes not quite meeting Crowley’s. Crowley shifted, turning on his knees to close the gap between them. He wasn’t quite touching, despite his fingers itching to do so, but he was close enough he could almost feel the heat radiating off Aziraphale’s face.

“Aziraphale, I need more to understand, here,” he said, softly. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

Aziraphale glared at him, reproachful, although he hardly seemed mad at Crowley as much as he was mad at himself. He then took a deep breath, eyes closing, expression pinched.

“Very well, I’ll… I’ll just go ahead and say it,” he murmured, voice itching. Took another deep breath. And another. And when Crowley was just about to try encourage him, he blurted, “Ihavetolayeggssometimes!”

Crowley blinked. Repeatedly.

“What?”

“I have. To. Lay eggs. Sometimes,” Aziraphale repeated, forcefully slower, eyes still closed and sounding like each and every word was being dragged out of his mouth with a dentist claw.

“…Oh. Yes, that’s what I thought I heard,” Crowley said, very very faintly.

With the shade of tomato wearing a blonde toupee, Aziraphale opened his eyes again, and promptly looked on a side. “There. Now you know. I’ll go catch the first train to London and stay there until it’s over. No need to make a mountain out of a molehill,” he gritted through his teeth.

“Wait— You need to lay eggs _now_?” Crowley asked, still trying to allow the understanding of the situation to truly sink in. Aziraphale’s mouth thinned.

“Not quite yet, but I’ll have to fairly soon. Two or three days, I’d imagine,” he said, trying to sound practical. “That’s why I wanted to— I’ll— I’ll need to grab some supplies before it starts, and then it’ll take me _hours_ to get it over with, and it’s a messy affair. No need for you to be around _that_.”

“Wait, just… Wait,” Crowley exhaled, feeling his eyes pulled down toward Aziraphale’s belly as if a magnetic force was placed there, and resisting it. “Since when do you… Have to do this?”

“Quite a while,” Aziraphale replied, grim. He seemed to have gotten over most of his embarrassment, and was now looking mostly annoyed. “The first time it happened I was in Rome. And then it kept happening, with no apparent rhyme or reason. At least I know the feeling well enough to be prepared.”

Crowley head spun with this newfound knowledge, and part of his mind was unhelpfully, hysterically supplying images of Aziraphale squatting over a bird nest and popping chicken eggs. He almost wanted to laugh at it, and managed to hold back just barely.

Aziraphale probably wouldn’t appreciate the hysterical laughing, considering the subject matter.

“Well, that’s all I needed to tell you, I better go prepare the bag and catch the afternoon train…” Aziraphale was saying as he rose from the bed, when Crowley managed to reign back his traitorous imagination. Shaking his head like a wet dog, Crowley scrambled to also climb down, following suit.

“Wait— Angel,” he said, putting a fleeting touch to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “There’s no need— Why would you want to go be uncomfortable in some hotel room, when you can stay in your own home, have everything you need at hand?”

Aziraphale seemed to hesitate, at that, but then nervously rubbed at his own arm. “I don’t— I don’t want you to see,” he then said, low and rough. Crowley had half a mind to get offended by that, but Aziraphale’s clear discomfort made him immediately scold himself.

“Angel, it’s alright,” he instead said, gentle. “I don’t mind—“

“You can’t _know_ that!” Aziraphale cried, anguished. “It’s not— Crowley, it’s not a pretty thing to look at. It’s messy in the worst sort of human way of messy— Granted, humans don’t have to lay _bloody_ eggs, but if they could, I’d imagine this is how it’d happen—“

“Angel—“

“I’m serious. It’s painful, and uncomfortable, and lasts hours. I don’t want to— To—“

“…You don’t want to what?” Crowley pressed on, gentle. It looked like Aziraphale was about to reach an understanding he hadn’t quite grasped yet, mouth soundlessly opening and closing. His shoulders sagged.

“I don’t want you to look at me and see that,” he whispered. “I don’t want to ruin the way you think about me.”

A frail silence fell, but Crowley did not move his hand away. He allowed his fingers to slide over Aziraphale’s shoulder, instead, grasping more firmly.

“Angel— Angel, I’ve seen you covered in mud and blood and, that one time, _literal shit_ —“

“You promised you wouldn’t bring it up again!”

“—Do you really think there’s anything you can do that will make me love you less?” Crowley pressed on, a lopsided smile pulling at his mouth. “In sickness and health— Isn’t that what mortals say, when they marry each other?”

“We aren’t mortals,” Aziraphale grumbled back, no real heat in his voice. He let Crowley pull him in, but didn’t quite relax in the hug.

“The point still stands. I love you, and I want to be with you even through the messy,” Crowley paused, pushing a soft kiss against Aziraphale’s forehead. “Besides, do you think I’d be able to just stay put while you go through something you openly admitted is painful and uncomfortable? I want to be there for you, angel.”

“You being there or not wouldn’t change much,” Aziraphale protested, but despite his words his traitorous body was relaxing in Crowley’s hold.

“Let’s give it a try. Maybe it wouldn’t change much, maybe you’ll find out you feel better doing it alone, but let’s at least try once and see if me being there helps. Please?”

Aziraphale looked at him, a small frown settled on his face as his eyes moved about, as if trying to gather Crowley’s real feelings from behind his expression. He then sighed, mouth thinning.

But he nodded.

**

For the most part, Crowley’s patience was tested by Aziraphale being unable to sit still for more than five minutes. But he made no mention of it, focusing instead on what the angel begrudgingly admitted needing. That’s how their bed was covered with extra-strong absorbent pads and a double layer of rags and old towels on top of it. Blankets were amassed in a chair in the room, along with enough pillows to make a mansion out of. Water bottles and juice boxes were stacked by the dresser and, when Crowley suggested it, hot water bottles were purchased as well.

Crowley also tried to argue that they might try to acquire some painkillers to help out, but Aziraphale grimly replied he tried once already to not very successful results, so he let it slide.

Aside from Aziraphale’s extreme fidgeting, no other outer sign of this bizarre occurrence really made itself known until a couple of days later. Crowley couldn’t help but reach over, although Aziraphale jumped back when his palm made contact with the curved lower belly.

“Sorry. Sensitive,” he said, apologetic. There was a certain roundness to his tummy that hadn’t been there the day prior. Crowley kept his hand hovering closer and, when Aziraphale nodded while his cheeks pinked slightly, he put his palm on it softly. It felt surprisingly hard.

“Kinda looks an early stage pregnancy,” Crowley joked, shooting him an amused look. Aziraphale huffed.

“I suppose it’s a similar process,” he then said, flinching slightly when Crowley’s fingers sunk a bit more. “Sorry. It gets really sensitive—“

“C’mere,” Crowley dragged him toward the couch, sitting down, legs spread while he manhandled his partner to sit in front of him. “Tell me about it.”

“What is there to say?” Aziraphale replied, flinching again, but not moving away as Crowley undid the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, exposing the skin and starting to massage gently. He made sure his hands were running hot, and it wasn’t long before Aziraphale was relaxing against his chest. “I can usually feel them starting to grow weeks in advance, but they only get really big and more rigid during the last couple of days. Minor blessings, I’d imagine.”

“How many do you lay, usually?” Crowley asked, unable to hold his curiosity at bay. He could slightly feel the bumpy shapes under the skin, if he pressed hard enough.

“Between three and five, mostly. I had six a couple of times. Never went under three, of course, perish the thought of having this ordeal go a bit faster at least once,” Aziraphale replied, sounding displeased.

“And you are the only angel this happens to?”

“As far as I know, yes. I did some research, but there was no sign of this happening to anyone else…”

“Did you ask Gabriel if you guys are supposed to lay eggs like nice little birds?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale huffed, although he didn’t sound annoyed as much as exasperated. He was openly melting against Crowley’s chest, head resting on his shoulder as Crowley kept gently massaging his belly. “Of course I never made word of this to Gabriel. He would’ve probably ordered me back in Heaven in a jiffy.”

“Good thinking,” Crowley muttered, shuddering of the idea of Aziraphale being recalled just because of some eggs. “How does it— You know, how does it actually work? When it’s time?”

“I suppose slightly like childbirth works for humans. Never exactly focused on the mechanic of it, to be honest.”

“Mh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell, and when Crowley noticed Aziraphale had dozed off, he let him be.

He had the feeling his angel would soon need all the rest he could get.

**

On the afternoon of the fourth day since Aziraphale’s admission, Crowley was waiting patiently.

He could tell something was amiss since that morning, although Aziraphale tried to play it tough and show no sign. But at some point, after he refused Crowley’s invitation to go grab some take-away, he sat by his side and curled up against him with a sigh.

“Hurts,” he muttered, tickling Crowley’s neck with his lips.

“Took you long enough to admit it,” Crowley sighed, circling both arms around him. “When did it start?”

“Last night,” Aziraphale admitted tiredly. “It’s not too bad, at first, just the occasional pang of pain— But the closer it gets, the more often it happens.”

“You’re probably having contractions.”

“Yes, that’s what I figured too.”

Crowley allowed a long silence to extend, distractedly massaging Aziraphale’s back as the angel pressed himself even closer. He pushed a kiss against his hair.

“Want to get into bed?” he murmured, slightly muffled. Aziraphale huffed.

“Not quite yet. I’ll get restless,” he said. “Let’s watch something. I need distractions.”

**

They were halfway through the third consecutive episode of The Great British Bake Off (the one tv programme they could agree on. Aziraphale liked to cheer on the contestants while Crowley snickered when disaster occurred) when Aziraphale let out a small whimper, Crowley immediately tensed.

“Angel?”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale muttered, and let out another little whimper. “Sorry,” he repeated. “ ‘Told you. It’s messy.”

“It’s alright, Angel,” Crowley replied, soothing. “Bed?”

“Yeah,” Aziraphale whispered, and added nothing else while Crowley helped him up and half-carried him to the bedroom.

He also helped Aziraphale shed his slacks and underwear, unprompted, the angel going along with it without a protest, eyebrows scrunched as he carefully laid back on the bed. Crowley wasn’t exactly surprised at the sight of the pink, fat pussy between Aziraphale’s legs, and even less so at the gooey wetness sticking to the underwear, forming a semi-transparent line that stretched thin while Crowley slid it off his thighs.

He threw the underwear in a corner but put the slacks away properly, before approaching the bed as Aziraphale made himself comfortable on the pillows. He let out a little, itching breath when Crowley surreptitiously put a fiery warm hand on his swollen belly.

“What if I prepare those bottles of hot water, huh, Angel?” Crowley murmured, gentle. Aziraphale said nothing, expression pinched, but nodded.

The sink seemed to know what was good for it, because the water was already scalding hot when Crowley turned the tap in order to fill the bottles. And the hot water bottles would probably also know what was good for them, and proceed to remain hot, no matter how long it took Aziraphale to lay his eggs.

The angel let out a little, relieved sigh, when Crowley put one of the bottles behind his lower back and the other on his belly, relaxing against the pillow.

“Oh, that feels nice,” he murmured, breathy, eyes fluttering close. “I can’t believe I never thought to try those…”

“See? A point in my favor,” Crowley replied softly, a small smile pulling at his mouth as he carefully sat down by Aziraphale side. He glanced at his naked legs. “Do you want the quilt?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s quite warm in here,” Aziraphale replied still murmuring, keeping his eyes closed. Crowley fell silent, keeping the bottle of hot water gently pressed down on his belly as Aziraphale breathed slowly. He could’ve almost looked asleep, hadn’t been for the occasional grimace of pain scrunching his expression.

“You don’t have to keep silent on my behalf, Angel,” Crowley whispered at some point, slightly unnerved. He felt like he ought to keep his voice at a funeral like level. “If you need to— To cry, or—“

“ ’S fine,” Aziraphale murmured back. “I prefer to— Focus on my breathing— _Ngh_ —“

That last little lament was followed by a wet noise, and yet again Crowley couldn’t help himself, glancing down. More of the semi-transparent, gooey wetness was gushing out of Aziraphale’s pussy, rolling down along the lines of his asscheeks and collecting on the towel under. His thighs trembled slightly, and Crowley realized he must’ve been pushing all along, watching with a detached sort of fascination as the first peek of a pointed white shell started to poke out. Aziraphale let out a long breath, legs relaxing.

“Angel…” Crowley blinked, hit by a sudden thought. “How… How big are these eggs, usually?”

“ ‘bout the size of a melon,” Aziraphale replied, faintly practical, an arm thrown over his forehead and the other lolling at the side of the bed. Crowley eyes went wide. “What were you imagining, Crowley?” he added with vague amusement, as if he knew exactly the expression that rose to Crowley’s face.

“I— Well, didn’t exactly think about it,” Crowley admitted, adjusting his stance to look between Aziraphale’s semi-hidden face and the pointed end of the egg pushing against his opening. “When you first said I sort of pictured chicken eggs—“

Aziraphale let out a terse chuckle. “Oh, I wish,” he then grunted, shifting his legs a bit wider, back tensing. “It’ll— Take me a while—“ he added, strangled, starting to push down again for long seconds. Crowley watched in dismay as the egg barely poked out a few millimetres more, the wetness forcefully squeezed and spilled around Aziraphale’s stretched hole with every push.

“ ‘Something’s sake, Angel, you weren’t kidding when you said it took you hours.”

“You think I were?” Aziraphale snapped back, none of the strained humor left in his voice. “I told you, Crowley, it’s—“

“It’s messy. Yes, I got it,” Crowley replied, patient. “Still— I don’t want to just be here and only watch. Is there something I can do for you?”

“No,” Aziraphale muttered, and released a strangled cry as he attempted another long push. Crowley huffed.

“Now you are just being stubborn,” he said, shifting off the bed. “Let me help out— First of all, maybe if you sit up or kneel it’ll help. Let gravity do some work.”

“Can’t, not for long. This is tiring, Crowley,” Aziraphale grumbled, finally cracking wet eyes open only to glare at Crowley, who looked back with a tilted eyebrow.

“Yes, but you aren’t alone this time. C’mon, let me just—“ there was a bit of awkward fumbling as Crowley helped Aziraphale up in a semi-sitting position, the hard shell of the egg stubbornly stuck in his stretching opening, and even more fumbling as he sat behind Aziraphale, helping him up on his thighs so he could relax and allow Crowley to support him and keep him upright. Crowley peeked over Aziraphale’s shoulder as Aziraphale breathed heavily, head lolling backwards and squelching noises accompanying his pushing. The egg was sticking out even more, now, growing larger and working Aziraphale even more open.

“Better?” Crowley asked, sticking the hot water bottle between Aziraphale’s back and his own belly. It was a bit too hot for himself, but he hardly dreamed of complaining.

When Aziraphale grunted in what could possibly be an affirmative manner, Crowley substituted the frontal hot water bottle with his own hands, feeling the hard shapes of the egg under his palm.

“Alright— Tell me when you want to start pushing again, and I’ll try to give you a hand, yeah?”

“I don’t know how’d you— _Gh_ —“ Aziraphale cried, shivering. Crowley pushed down on his belly. “Oh— Oh, I guess that might help a bit, yeah— Alright, again in a few seconds—“ he muttered, taking a deep breath. He released a little itching noise, his thighs over Crowley going marble-like hard as he doubled down on pushing, one of his hands finding Crowley’s side and fisting the cloth of his shirt like iron. Crowley pressed down on his belly with a hand, the other finding the wet, rigid shell between Aziraphale’s thighs and blindly searching for a good grip. When he found it he pulled, and Aziraphale let out a choked, surprised “oh!” almost drowned by a loud squelching noise, when the egg popped out quickly, followed by a gush of gooey wetness drenching Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, that’s— It never happened so quickly,” Aziraphale murmured, breathless, cheeks intensely pink and a sheen of sweat pearling his face.

“You alright?” Crowley asked, trying to peer over even more but seeing just a peek of Aziraphale’s wet, flushed pussy. His own fingers were coated in the semi-transparent goo, and the well-sized egg shone a pearly white, looking heavy on the already drenched towel. He instinctively rose his hand, fingers finding the folds of Aziraphale’s necessary effort in search of possible damage, and Aziraphale shivered. “Sorry, sorry,” Crowley hurriedly said, moving his drenched hand away.

“No, ’s fine,” Aziraphale whispered, relaxed against him. “I’ve never— It’s— It’s nice having you here. You helped,” he added, something frail and raw to his voice.

Crowley closed his mouth, gulped around a dry throat, and softly rose his hand once more. When his thumb made contact with Aziraphale’s clitoris the angel sighed again, sounding definitely not in pain.

“This alright?” Crowley asked in a raw whisper. Aziraphale nodded once.

Silence was only broken by the wet noises, as Crowley gently circled the clitoris with his thumb, his index and middle fingers pushing into Aziraphale’s hot, wet canal. He felt the contractions of the inner walls, and another gush of sticky wetness being released. For long minutes all that broke the silence were the wet noises and Aziraphale’s small sighs as Crowley lazily fingered him, emboldened by the occasional mewling whimpers, the way Aziraphale pushed his hips down against Crowley’s fingers, the way he nuzzled at Crowley’s neck, hot breath caressing him.

“Make me come,” he murmured at some point, lips wet against Crowley’s skin. “Please.”

And he needn’t ask a second time. Crowley let out a trembly breath, painfully hard despite himself, as he increased the clever movements of his hand, his fingers. Aziraphale thighs twitched, his back arching slightly, as he drove closer and closer, and when he went rigid and cried out, the impossibly hot warmth of his insides clenching around Crowley’s fingers, Crowley wasn’t surprised when something hard pushed down on them. He took the fingers out with a wet pop, watching in aroused fascination as the next egg dropped out of Aziraphale’s pussy in one fell swoop.

“Goodness me,” Aziraphale breathed out after long seconds, almost melting against Crowley. “Oh— Oh my dear, what a fool I have been all these years… If I only I had known it could be this easy…”

“Well, better late than never,” Crowley replied, wincing when his voice came out hoarse. “Glad to be of help.”

He turned when he felt Aziraphale’s eyes on him. He was still relaxed, head lolling against Crowley’s shoulder, eyes heavy lidded but bright. His cheeks were maddeningly pink, his lips even more so, swollen in that way that made Crowley wish he could bite down on them. Some curls were sticking to his wet forehead, giving him the air of someone who had just gone through the thorough fucking of a lifetime, rather than having laid two melon-sized eggs.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, barely opening his inviting lips, and Crowley looked away. “My dear…”

“No.”

“You erection is pressing against my bosom.”

“Still— _Angel_.”

“I really, _really_ want you to. Please?”

“Fuck, Angel,” Crowley exhaled, closing his eyes, eyebrows scrunched. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

All he got in reply was a slight chuckle and a kiss pressed against his neck. With a last grunt Crowley gave in, and they had to shift yet again. Aziraphale let out a happy sigh as he sunk back between the pillows, shamelessly spreading his legs as Crowley turned on all fours to kneel between them.

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked, erection painfully pressing against its confinement, eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s wet, gaping hole.

“Crowley.”

“You are— Such a _hedonist_ ,” he muttered back, awkwardly struggling his jeans down his thighs. He did not miss the hungry look Aziraphale launched at his throbbing erection when it finally bobbed free, nor the quick wetting of lips.

“I embrace it, at this point,” Aziraphale replied roughly, opening his arms in a silent invitation. Crowley scooted closer, felt something hard against his knee and realised the eggs were still there, pushed them out of the way. Fell forward in Aziraphale’s arms, propping himself on his elbows at Aziraphale’s sides, shivered when the head of his cock brushed against Aziraphale’s pussy.

“Is this a three eggs day?” he asked, hoarse, crying out when one of Aziraphale’s leg hooked around his waist, pulling him in. He sank into the warmth with a loud squelching noise and an even louder groan of pleasure. The flat plane of his lower belly was pressing down against Aziraphale’s generous one as he sank in deeper, the rigid shape of an egg pressed against him.

“Think it might be,” Aziraphale replied, breathless, directly into Crowley’s ear. His finger sank into Crowley’s hair, arms pulling him flush against his chest, and whatever else he attempted to say was drowned in a long, pleased whimper, their hips moving in a disjointed, needy rhythm.

Crowley had no idea how long it took, lost in the moment, nose pressed against Aziraphale’s hair as they both groaned and moaned and called each other’s names with tiny breaths. He felt the contractions and clenches of Aziraphale’s insides around him, the shifting of the egg against his skin, and when Aziraphale murmured “Out— Pull out, please—“ he wasn’t surprised. He shifted back, kneeling between Aziraphale’s thighs, cock pulsing so close to an orgasm and sight watery as he put a hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, the other on his hip.

“Show me, angel. Show me,” he murmured, nonsensical, and couldn’t help but cry out, hips twitching, spilling spurts of thick come as he watched Aziraphale moan, arch his back, pushing out the egg that stretched his hole, and stretched, and stretched until it stopped at its largest point, only to fall out with a last push and copious gushing, landing directly into Crowley’s hands.

It was surprisingly weighty, and Crowley distantly noticed the shell wasn’t a pure white as he originally thought, but there were spots on it of a gray so light you could only see them shimmering under the light at the right angle. He looked at it, turning it around for some seconds, breathing heavily.

His mind felt sluggish as he stared at it, and he only managed to shake himself back into reason when Aziraphale asked with a tired, but content tone, “Dear, can you please hand me a bottle of water and one of juice? Thank you.”

Crowley looked around. He was kneeling with his pants pooled around his knees, both hands coated in rapidly drying goo, an egg in them. Aziraphale also hadn’t moved, relaxed and unashamed as he lied heavily between the pillows, his pussy flushed, wet and gaping after the exertion, a long, thin line of sticky wetness keeping it connected to the last egg still in Crowley’s hands. Both his thighs shone with the discharge followed by every single egg, and the towels and rags between them were fully drenched and uncomfortably cold, the lines of Crowley’s own white, sticky come coating them like a horny imitation of a Pollock.

“This is a mess alright,” Crowley muttered, hoarse, causing Aziraphale to let out a small, chime-like laugh. “Just a sec, angel.”

A bit ashamed, Crowley awkwardly scooted backwards after depositing the last egg near the other ones, and dragged his pants back up. He cleaned his hands as best as he could against one of the dry towels, and then went to fetch the drinks.

He fell definitely less ashamed when Aziraphale smiled gratefully at him, flushed and tired but clearly satisfied. Crowley smiled back, brushing his soft cheek with curled fingers.

“Let me go get something to clean you up,” he murmured, affectionate, leaving Aziraphale to drag himself sitting up and hungrily downing half of the water bottle in one go. By the time he came back with warm, wet towels and a full basin, Aziraphale had moved on the juice, although at a more relaxed pace.

He didn’t protest, but rather relaxed even more as Crowley gently cleaned him up, took the drenched towels away, dried him off. He obediently rolled over so Crowley could get rid of the last rags, and nestled himself with a content hum against Crowley’s chest when he also climbed on the bed. The three eggs, nestled in a clean towel between their shins, were shining with a pearly sheen under the last lights of day coming from the outside.

“Don’t you want to get changed?” Crowley asked, distractedly running his fingers through Aziraphale’s soft curls. Aziraphale hummed.

“ ’S comfortable,” he replied, almost sleepily. Crowley smiled, a wave of fondness he knew Aziraphale would feel washing over him. And, surely enough, Aziraphale smiled back, nuzzling his collarbone affectionately.

Then he went very, very still. And rigid. And then groaned loudly.

“Angel?” Crowley immediately asked, worried, but when he turned Aziraphale belly up to look at him, Aziraphale was looking back with a mostly unamused, exasperated frown.

“I think I just realized why this happens,” he declared, sounding slightly like someone who wanted to start running and screaming, vaguely gesturing toward the eggs. Crowley blinked. “It’s _you_.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s— I always get eggs when you do something stupidly romantic!” Aziraphale groaned, dragging both hands on his face. “Rome. You gave me your unfinished oysters when you were full—“

“That’s romantic to you, huh?”

“Pompeii, you saved those kids.”

“…Oh.”

“Spain, you left those flowers on my windowsill.”

“Shit—“

“Saved me about a thousand times, eggs every time. I laid six after Paris _and_ after the blitz,” the hands moved, and Aziraphale glared at him. “I can’t believe it. I grow eggs whenever I get overwhelmed by how much I love you. And now we are _living together_ ,” He groaned, plaintive. “Oh, I’ll have to be laying eggs _constantly_.”

Crowley knew he shouldn’t. He knew, he _knew_ he ought to push a castigated expression on his face.

But he was grinning, and couldn’t stop. Aziraphale huffed, hitting him with a pillow.

“Well… It’s a good thing we found out a quicker, more pleasurable way to deal with the issue, isn’t it?” Crowley glanced at the eggs. “…What should we do with them?”

“An omelet.”

“ _Aziraphale_.”

Aziraphale stuck his tongue out to him, before sighing deeply and curling back on a side, against Crowley’s chest. “I usually bury them. But now, I want to sleep.”

“…Sounds like a plan,” Crowley agreed, curling around Aziraphale with a content smile.

They were off to the land of dreams in thirty seconds flat. One of the eggs shuddered slightly.

END!

**Author's Note:**

> Here's also a little extra silly inspired by one of the comments on the original prompt
> 
> Extra:
> 
> “Crowley… Stop iiiit…”
> 
> Aziraphale blindly swatted away the tickling on his cheek, or attempted to. He had enough thin, serpent tongues being stuck in his ears or tickling him just about everywhere whenever Crowley fell in one of his prankster moods, to recognize it happening even without having to look. He didn’t quite want to open his eyes yet. He would’ve loved to sleep just a bit longer, even if his naked backside was a bit cold. The rest of his body was running pleasingly hot, what with all of Crowley’s thin, lanky limbs hanging around him like a limpet—
> 
> Wait.
> 
> How could Crowley tickle him with a snake tongue, if he was very much not snake-shaped?
> 
> Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw was a very much asleep Crowley, mouth hanging slightly open, hair all flat on a side. Human-shaped, and definitely not tickling Aziraphale’s cheek.
> 
> Aziraphale turned, and shrieked.
> 
> “Ughu—“ Crowley said, as he also jumped awake, blinking blearily and turning around. “Wha…”
> 
> He fell silent, frozen as both he and Aziraphale looked at the ceiling. Or, more precisely, at what was fluttering above their heads.
> 
> The tiny, thin snake hissed in a way that suggested happiness. Its body was of a silver-y white, shimmering in the morning light, and its small wings seemed to be of the same color, for what one could gather. They were beating as fast as a hummingbird’s, keeping it awkwardly hanging in the air. Then they stopped, and the small snake fell between them with a soft thump, promptly curling under Aziraphale’s chin, making another seemingly happy hiss and sticking their tiny, tiny tongue out to tickle at his jaw.
> 
> “What the fuck,” Aziraphale whispered.
> 
> Crowley was still too stupefied to even react to the cursing. He instead very carefully untangled his limbs from around Aziraphale, moving as if he feared the tiny little snake might attack them at the drop of a hat, and dragged himself in a sitting position. Looked at the three eggs nestled in a towel between them.
> 
> Only saw fragments of what were supposed to be three eggs, instead. And two more tiny snakes who looked back at him, huddled together. One was all black and reds, small wings a soot gray. The other was more silver, like its sibling, but with a red belly, white wings spotted with black.
> 
> They also hissed happily and slid toward Crowley, slithering up his arm.
> 
> “Oh,” Crowley said, very faintly. “We are parents.”
> 
> “WHAT—“
> 
> END! (2)


End file.
